


Beneath a Darker Sky

by micehell



Category: Tour of Duty (1987)
Genre: Drama, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-07
Updated: 2008-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:57:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We'd tell ghost stories and other lies, each one bigger than the last, and eventually we'd fall asleep with the stars overhead and the crickets chirping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beneath a Darker Sky

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently blanket forts are not a universal phenomenon. *snicker* Who knew? But for those who didn't play fort as children, all they are is basically a tent made out of a blanket and anything you could drape it over, and then you sat under it and did dumb things. Which is pretty much what kids did even when they weren't in their 'fort', at least where I grew up. ;)

The air in the fort was hot and damp, close enough to feel like a weight across their skins. The light was muted, just enough of it for Zeke to see the pale reflection of Myron's skin, a liquid flash of eyes that were watching him. Zeke could feel Myron's impatience in the same way he could the air.

"Is this all there is to it?"

Zeke's laugh rolled through him, causing the blanket to shake around them. "You really haven't ever played Fort before?"

"No," Myron replied with a dryly sarcastic edge. "My education has apparently been sadly lacking, and I didn't even know it. I'll write City and the OTC and ask for my money back immediately."

Zeke rolled closer to Myron, the change in position pulling the blanket fort closer around them, like the brush of a lover's hand. But the kiss he placed on Myron's nose was chaste, for the child Myron had never quite known how to be rather than for the man he was now.

"What?" Myron asked, a hint of worry in his voice, never quite sure enough that he wasn't doing something wrong, but Zeke just slowly shook his head, letting his lips brush across Myron's to quiet him.

He hated that for all that Myron could be a brat, he didn't have any real concept of what it was to be young, what it was to just play for the hell of it. He'd brought it up once, the itch to solve any problem he came across too strong to ignore, but Myron liked to avoid talking about his mother, and his father's death had been too close, and Myron had been warm in his arms, just like he was now. And Zeke had better memories to talk about.

"One year at the orphanage I had a couple of friends that bunked near me. All during the summer, when the nights were too hot, Sam and Toby and I would wait until the lights went out and the nuns were all in bed, then we'd slip out the window to the roof, where it was cooler. We'd tell ghost stories and other lies, each one bigger than the last, and eventually we'd fall asleep with the stars overhead and the crickets chirping. Most of the time one of us woke up before we got found out, but even when we didn't, it was worth the extra chores."

Myron was listening with that same intensity he talked with, nothing about him diluted in any way, and, God, Zeke had missed that. After Devlin was killed, after his father died, Myron had retreated so deep, only the anger showing, but tempered, like an echo of what should have been.

"But when fall started to roll around, we'd sneak our blankets up there. We'd tie them together at the edges, and drape one end over the chimney stack, the other over a branch that reached out over the roof. As the leaves fell off, that one branch looked more and more like long, spooky fingers reaching out towards us, and we'd sit under our blanket fort, a smuggled flashlight between us, and make up stories about who the fingers belonged to."

Myron snorted. "And then you wound up not being able to sleep for the rest of the night after you'd scared each other to death."

Zeke grinned, letting Myron take over the story. It didn't matter that it wasn't true, there being relatively little in the world that can scare you when you haven't much to lose, but the amusement in Myron's eyes as he huddled close, wriggling his fingers in a pantomime of the evil tree monster, and doing a fairly decent Bela Legosi _Mwuh huh huh_ , made that truth unimportant.

They lay there, intertwined, sharing stories and air that gave way to kisses. There was nothing chaste in these, deep and soft, broken only by the sound of Zeke's name when he slipped his hand between them, holding them together, the brush of his knuckles tickling across Myron's stomach, the scratch of Myron's nails trailing down his back.

Slow as it was, it ended too soon, both of them struggling for breath in the hot, damp air of the fort collapsed around them. Myron threw the blanket off, claustrophobic now that the moment was gone, but he was smiling as his breathing calmed, rubbing a hand in a lazy pattern along Zeke's shoulder. "If I'd have known how fun blanket forts were, I'd have played a lot sooner."

Zeke grinned in return, remembering other nights on the roof, the three of them under the blankets, teaching and learning what touch could do. They'd been almost innocent, those touches, more of hormones than desire, and bearing none of the import, none of the weight, of Myron's hand on his shoulder, the feel of Myron's eyes on his. "Well, just think. Now we can spend all night playing, and the only extra chores we'll get for it is having to wash the sheets more often."

Myron laughed, and Zeke fell asleep with that sound soft in his ear, the ceiling of their bedroom dark overhead, and counting the extra chores well worth it.

/story


End file.
